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I Love My Job
I've always had a strange obsession for coffee. I'm not sure why, but I think it's the warm feeling of the hot liquid going down my throat, and into my stomach. I think it's the fact that it warms me to the bone. Moving on, however... I sat at the table, drinking my cup of coffee. God, I love my job, I thought to myself, with a grin on my face and with a cup of coffee in my right hand. I glanced across the table to my friend. "If you're not gonna drink your coffee, then why did you ask me to make some...?" He kept silent, a blank look in his eye as he stared at me. I shrugged, "More for me." I reached across the table, and slid the mug of coffee in front of me. I took one more, long sip of my own cup, finishing it off in one large gulp. I returned to the paper in front of me, sketching a few things while moving on to the cup I had taken from him. I yawned deeply into my left sleeve, pausing my writing for only that. I frowned, when I looked back up to my friend. David was his name, from what I recall. I glanced over to the TV in the kitchen, listening to the news anchor with 'Breaking News'. "This just in, yet another body has been found." I frowned. "The body was found late last night, flowing down the 'Little River'. It had multiple lacerations, and had the word Fear, with the number three replacing the 'E', carved into its stomach. Police are yet to let out any further information. This has been Action News, reporting to you live." I sighed after the news cast ended, looking over to David a bit tiredly. "It appears they've found my work, David. Now it's only a matter of time until they find you...." I got up, and walked over to the lifeless, pale body. It had a smooth laceration, nearly surgical, along the throat area, severing the carotid artery. I peeled his shirt off his body, while sliding out a butcher knife from one of the nearby drawers. I then slid my gas mask on. I brought the knife upon his stomach, beginning to carve 'TH3' into his stomach. His warm blood splattered along my shirt, as I severed multiple veins. My gloves had blood painted on them when I stabbed the bloody butcher knife into the wood table, letting it stick. I adjusted my mask with my gloved hand, and made my way out the back door. I sprint into the woods behind his house, while reaching for my cell phone. I dialed 9-1-1, having just thought of a marvelous plan. "9-1-1, what's your emergency?" I responded in my tired voice, "Yes, I'd like to report a murder?" "Okay, where has this 'murder' taken place, sir?" "Well, where would be the fun in that?" I turned around and whipped the phone towards the house. I wasn't far, so it only hit the grass in the backyard, when I turned around and ran off through the trees. The next day I drove by the house. The cops were still there, examining the crime scene further, for who-knows-what-reason. They'd be looking for me now, but that would just add onto the fun of this all... God I love my job, I thought to my self, as I drove off towards the highway, to get out of this place- for now. Category:Mental Illness